Let It Burn.


In my bed, a bed that never saw your body, never drank our sweat, or felt you rise at dawn.  In my bed a fire lit.  It started in my belly and stayed there.  It burnt my guts.  It took my heart.  Nightmares, tears, panic, all of the things that came from your disappearance, fuel.  All of it, fuel.  I burned until the only thing left was ash.


The odd thing about nothingness is that it never truly is nothingness.  Buried within is always more.  More pain.  More hope.  More.  While the fire emptied me out, some strange well filled me.  I wonder about it now.  I’m a pile of ash and still I breath.


That bed, the furnace with my dreams of love a smoldering collection of wood and smoke warming every inch of my life.  I seek sleep in it now and it feels like a war.  A thing that is winning and losing, together.   I lay in it, tossing,turning, allowing myself to think of you, willing myself to forget.  But I never truly want to forget.  We can paint over it, we can turn it away when it begs to crawl between the sheets, we can put a million miles between this day and that,  but the burnt earth will never forget.  The scars of this fire will be seen by every man and woman that passes through our scorched worlds.


A friend told me today that he a had moment in life where he opened his eyes to a room filled with flames.  In his left hand was a match, in the right, a gas can.  In that moment you can do only one thing.  Let the mother fucker burn.  All of it, down to the ground.  You with it.  We hold onto some moments with a religious fever.   And to watch them burn is a baptism.  Sacrosanct reckoning.


A dunk in the river, a dab of holy water, none of it compares to the righteousness of fire.  And so I am grateful.  I am reverent of this bed that now holds the bones of a new woman.  To me it is a nest.  And I am a phoenix.  The pillows are seeds and the blankets are feathers.  And I will be a phoenix.  I will be hot to the touch.  My hurt will be the wings that keep my soul open, wings spread wide, despite fear, despite the weakness of this new skin.


It is easy to look back at lost love and regret, hate.  I will never do that.  In my chest is a small, wood cabin that exists only for that love.  It is where I keep forgiveness, respect, and true love.  As my body ages, this house will not.  There is a bow with arrows on the wall, a red hot stove, and a bed with sheets that are always turnt down, waiting.  It is fire resistant.  All great things are both fed by heat and strong enough to withstand the match.


This one’s for you Gyspy.

The Elements

Some small thing inside me, a probe or a hand, reach, looking for the other part.  The part that holds answers.  The missing piece that wants and gives with the same kind of energy.  It seeks the blanket that keeps out the cold and perks up its ears for the sounds that make this place seem less lonely.  A pot crashing or a toilet flushing.  In this life our journey is marked by the elements that move throughout the years, changing who we are and defining what we need.

I can’t explain how it feels to be the rock but I know for sure what it means to be the water.  Carving through time with an imperceptible gravity, eating earth with a mercilessly lazy grind.  Youthful eyes tell you that the course is within your power to alter.  Time will show you otherwise.  This path was here long before me.  These hungers were carved into my gut by cave men with rocks for weapons and grass for a bed.  Since I cannot be the earth, I am too young to fight, I will be the water.  I will know the flow and I will follow.

And when the water runs my blood cold and I become the force who has no heart, I will seek the fire.  I will run across the earth and leave ash where once was wood and civil life.  Everyone that sees me arrive will reach to touch and recoil in pain.  The good pain.  The kind that cleanses and releases seeds.  Dark scars will remain long beyond times desire to remember.  People will speak of my wretched war path until they die and then their children will tell the stories that soon become the myths that teach the young ones to revere the fire, to run at the sight of a blaze.  But we know how that story ends. Do we not?  What you fear you need to touch and what you touch will burn you.


The only antidote to a burn so ancient is the green blue heaven of water.  Submerge the wounded limb far into a pool and there you will find forgetting.  Pain will leave and rise as a steam, now you can sweetly join the wind.  Freedom is here, movement is here, forever is here.  On the wind there is no time or body and now you are truly married to everything.  What you seek is found here and though it gives no true knowledge, there is no need of it any how.   What is left of you, the one who knows nothing and is marked by everything?

The body held behind is the root.  It is the earth that bears the marks, the seeds, the gulleys.  Time runs through you and for that you are made immortal.  You are a part of the we and the hand you reach for is your own.  The getting home was hard but there is comfort in trial, strength in battle.   And the snake works its way around so as to bite its own tail.  At this place we begin again.

Staying Warm is like falling in love.

Packing for this journey was a delicate endeavor.  I undertook it with an eye to glory.  This method landed me in a snow bound ice box with 16 pairs of zero traction cowboy boots and 7 capes.  Ever the romantic.  Never the wiser.  So now I close my eyes and imagine how I will stay warm in this town.


I will reside in a cozy shack swathed in bear skin furs and wild roaring fires.

Swagger.  I will definitely swagger.

Frolicking will happen.  It really loosens up the muscles.

I will wear lots of denim and I will seek men that do the same.

I will share my body heat, for the cause.

I will snoop and gather.

I won’t hide my body.  It is wonderful and warm inside.

I will find heat in the nooks and crannies.

I will stay gilded and golden.


Dear Readers,

This blog is the warm and honest center of my life.  Thank you for putting up with my hot and cold disposition.  I am grateful on the daily for having a voice and some ears to hear it.


M. Josi